


Getting Undressed

by Blood_Red_Lion



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angry Lance (Voltron), Boys In Love, First Kiss, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Smut, One Shot, POV Lance (Voltron), POV Second Person, Pining Idiots, Pining Lance (Voltron), Post-Season/Series 05, Touch-Starved Keith (Voltron), a bit of angst, depite the title lmao, then they get awkward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 11:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15885414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blood_Red_Lion/pseuds/Blood_Red_Lion
Summary: Lance can’t stand Keith’s Blade of Marmora suit.





	Getting Undressed

**Author's Note:**

> Continuing this spam by moving down the list.. this one is also slightly angsty.  
> Supposed to be set after season five because Lance is just crazy high strung and Keith is tired.  
> I bring you 2.5 pages of Lance whining, and then 6.5 pages of boys being ridiculous. Also making out and Keith is a lil touch starved okay bye.  
> Oh and it's in 2nd person because I'm ridiculous.

You want him to take off that suit.

He looks at you, violet eyes quizzical as ever and dares to ask, “Why?”

Why?

Why.

_Why_ …!?

Because that suit makes you **angry**.

Because that suit is everything wrong with your life right now.

Because it’s almost like every time he puts that awful thig on it’s just another step closer to death.

Because it’s almost like that’s **exactly** why he wears it.

It’s almost like he planned it.

Because its hard and soft in all the wrong places.

Because it will _never_ protect him the way  you can.

Because it’s a reminder of what he chose over _yo_ —over your **family**. Over Voltron, you mean. Because you aren’t so stupid.

He isn’t here for you and he never has been, there’s no point in trying to put emphasis on something that isn’t there.

Your eyes narrow at him despite how it hurts you to do so. Because he’s not angry. He’s not trying to pick a fight. He has, in the past, on occasion spurred on by your own goading, but lately he hasn’t.

Maybe it’s because you mean so much less to him now. You don’t even have that together anymore.

This thought hardens your resolve, keeps your eyes narrow to combat his near doe-eyed stare.

How does he do that. How does he look at you like that?

“There’s enough negativity around here, Mullet.” You bite out.

“I can see that,” He replies, a little too quickly.

Oh. Maybe he is trying to pick a fight.

Maybe you miss that.

“And what’s that supposed to mean!?” Your voice has already hit that higher pitch. Are you that tired? Your shoulders are so tensed.

Why has it been so long since you’ve seen him. And why did you react like this. And why are you saying stupid things like demanding he take the suit off.

And yet when you reach out to him as if to shove him, noticing he doesn’t flinch or move away from you at all, you simply reach into his hood and push it down. Your fingers grazing the back of his neck on the recoil and you catch motion in your periphery like his eyelashes fluttering.

You turn your gaze downward regardless, your fingertips buzzing.

He brings his arms up, wraps them around himself in typical mullet fashion.

“I didn’t realize it offended you so much,” He mumbles.

You feel your cheek twitch. Your foot taps impatiently though you aren’t sure what you’re waiting for.

He raises his head, you catch the motion even though you aren’t looking directly at him, he makes to move toward you. You return his earlier trust and don’t move, but unlike you he doesn’t go through with whatever he’d wanted to do. His fingers dig into his arms, he shakes his head.

He stares at you for a long moment and you dare to peer at him from the corner of your eye.

He catches you. His brows furrow in his confusion, “Are you…”

_Okay_?

It’s unspoken but you’re sure that’s what he wants to ask you.

Maybe he can see the tension in your back.

“I’m fine. I just hate that suit.” You hiss before suddenly your turning, aiming to walk out of the rec-room.

But he grabs your arm so quickly you stumble back, nearly falling into him.

“I’ll take it off then.” He says, just as quickly, not even waiting for you to growl out some remark about how he’d almost made you trip.

“I won’t wear it while I’m here, okay?”

While he’s here.

_While he’s here_.

The implication being that he won’t always be here. Where he’s supposed to be. By your side.

“Yeah whatever,” you respond, all your fight ebbing away at the thought he’ll be gone again soon.

Running head first into danger. Brash. Impulsive. Suicidal.

_Keith_.

You try to walk away again but he hasn’t released your arm. You stare at it. You feel your skin burning even under his gloves and your own armor.

Maybe if you’re lucky Pidge will walk back in, forgot something on the couch maybe. Cut the tension.

You’re not lucky. It’s still just the two of you.

You eye his fingers. You miss how you used to always be able to see them because of his stupid fingerless gloves. The ones he never wears anymore because he’s always in that stupid suit.

“I’ll take it off now,” he starts again, a faint flush brushing his cheeks, so light you can almost pretend you’re imagining it. “I just need a little help with the clasp if… if you don’t mind.”

You raise a brow but turn to look at him directly, you’re sure you’re not imagining that blush and your bad mood is draining as fast as your fight.

“…Are you asking me to help undress you?”

His eyes dart to the ground and his cheeks get decidedly pinker, “You’re the one who asked me to get undressed.”

…Fair.

You cut the space between the two of you and turn him around so you can face his back, presumably to find that tricky clasp he was talking about. But you don’t find a clasp, the back of the armor is simply rounded, smooth, nice. 

Your eyes dart downward for the briefest second because yes, Keith’s entire back, lower back in particular, is nicer.

“Uhm?” You offer.

He hangs his head, a mumbled “it’s at the front actually…” your only response.

You turn him around again and you’re forced to raise your head when you look him over again, your hands on his shoulders.

You still don’t see it, “Why do you need help with a clasp in your front? How are you this useless?”

You don’t mean it as badly as it sounds coming out of your tired lips and thankfully he doesn’t take it that way.

“It’s just. It’s on the inside and…” He pulled the breast plate forward a bit from the cloth part of his suit and pointed his head straight down to try and stare into darkness, “I can’t _see_ it, so it just—I fumble with it for like fifteen minutes every day I swear it—”

You don’t need to acknowledge his darkening cheeks to realize you’re staring at him. You’re not even going to stop.

You’re just. Astounded.

You’re astounded with the power this boy has over you.

You’re amazed by his ability to go from “stoic space emo” to… this. This awkward adorable mess.

You inhale deeply.

You look at his eyes even though he is doing everything in his power not to directly look at you.

You nod to yourself.

You love him.

That’s just the fact.

No one else can make you so angry and so happy in two seconds flat. No one else can get so deep under your skin they can nestle next to your heart like he can.

“Alright, let me see,” you lower one hand form his shoulder and look down into the darkness between the breastplate and the skin tight suit beneath it.

You can see… something vaguely clasp like, toward the left side over the ribs.

Man, that must be uncomfortable.

“Okay. I get it. Come into the light a bit.” You tell him as you finally release him and start removing your own armor, starting with the bulky parts on your arm.

“W-what are you—” He stumbled out.

You blink at him, slowly.

“Taking off my armor?”

“Yeah, but.”

You blink at him again, just for the effect of it. You watch him bite his lip in his frustrated confusion because at the very least he knows your look means there’s something he’s missing.

You’re not sure he can be any more endearing than he is at moments like these.

“Armored wrist. Will not fit,” You finally inform him.

His mouth makes that perfect little O shape and you need to breath deeply again. Each one releases so much tension from your shoulders. Bless this stupid dangerous boy.

You move to sit on the long circular couch and motion for him to join you. It takes him a moment to remember why and in the mean time you roll your eyes and remove your own chest piece if only because you feel like it has the tiniest possibility of getting in the way too. The space allowed by Keith’s ridiculous suit is small and you’re probably going to have to squeeze yourself up to him to get at it.

Not that that’s a bad thing.

Once he finally takes his spot beside you, you prop one leg beneath you and turn to face him. While you pull on the breastplate again he adjusts so he’s sitting on both of his legs and looking straight at you, his face still pointed down so he has to look at you from beneath his lashes and you wonder if this is something else he does on purpose.

You pull the armor as far as it will go, which isn’t much, and you reach in with the other.

You suddenly realize why he has so much trouble, the top of the breastplate presses into your arm and you immediately wonder how uncomfortable the entire thing must be to wear. But then the back of your hand is brushing against the suit which is impossibly soft even against Keith’s hard chest. Maybe that balances it out.

You try to see where the clasp is again, pushing into Keith just like you thought you’d have to. It’s not as fun as you’d briefly considered but that’s not to say it isn’t entirely.

Your faces are very close and despite staying very still Keith still looks so overwhelmed he might bolt any second.

You’re not sure when you fell in love with him exactly. You’re sure it must have happened ages ago though. Was it the conversation in his bed room? The lion switch? Was it during any of your missions together? When the castle was acting up and you had to brace yourself against each other to try and escape an elevator?

Was it the bonding moment you still only barely remember despite it being the first time you held his hand?

Was it when you watched him grin against the handlebars of a hover bike and out maneuver trained garrison officials?

Was it when you heard about his expulsion and you witnessed the absolutely horrific state of Iverson’s face in the few weeks before it was decided you would take his place?

Was it when you first met and those violet eyes stared right _through_ you?

…You grit your teeth.

No, probably not then

Probably closer to the night on the hoverbike.

You lean your head forward, pressing your forehead side against his and pushing him. “You’re in my light,” You clarify at his amusing squawk.

He bumps you back anyway.

So you do it again, he’s still in your light.

This time your cheeks brush.

His skin is amazingly soft and it flares your temper again because how dare he have such perfect skin he doesn’t do anything to it.

Maybe throwing yourself into life or death situations is good for skin.

You’re about to shake your head, force yourself not to think about it, not feed that stupid little bitter thought, but he’s nudged you again just as your finger grazed the clasp.

“Are you serious!?” You hiss, because of course, you lost it now.

“W-w-well you started it!” He cries.

You push his head with your own again and this time go so far as to lean your forehead against his now bared neck to better look on the inside.

At this angle, the clasp even reflects the light. Score.

You can feel his throat bob as he swallows on nothing.

It takes you a second but you’re finally able to unlock the damn thing and suddenly your arm has much more room.

“You’re welcome,” you say flatly, raising your head again.

This was a mistake.

His chest is heaving, his eyes are nearly shut, his lips are loosely parted, and his neck is still bared to you.

It’s like he’s frozen, like he doesn’t realize he can move again.

You reach up, your fingers graze his neck. What you’re doing now is extremely risky but you can’t help it. Maybe it’s the influence of the red lion, but you want to act on your impulses and this is your impulse.

You walk your fingers lightly up his neck and along his jaw until you’re cupping his chin, your middle finger tucked just under his earlobe which you may or may not rub as you tilt his head back down toward you.

“You alright there…?” You ask him.

His voice is breathier than you’d ever heard it, “I…uhm… no.”

You strengthen your grip on his chin a bit and this tiny but absolutely delicious noise comes out of Keith’s throat.

“It’s just—I don’t think we’ve ever—I don’t think anyone’s ever—uhm…”

“Is your neck sensitive, Keith?” you offer the stumbling mess in front of you.

He sags in defeat and nods against your hand.

“Right, then I’ll stop touching it,” You finish, releasing him and pulling away.

But then, Red was Keith’s lion first.

The loose breastplate slams into your own unprotected chest and Keith winces too, possibly because the thing is highly uncomfortable, but it’s not enough to stop him.

His arms are wrapped around your neck and he’s pushed you back against the seat of the couch. Out of reflex you reach around him, your arms wrapped tightly around a slim waist that slides against you in the same way his lips do.

They’re soft, much like the rest of his skin, much like his hair which is falling into your face now, much like his eyes, and much like his voice when he talks to you.

You’d smack yourself if there was a possibility it wouldn’t alarm Keith, but at this rate you know that’s impossible.

He bites at your lip and you don’t put up an ounce of fight as his tongue slips into your mouth.

Because it takes that tongue massaging yours, those tiny noises from Keith’s throat, that hand gripping tightly at your hair, for you to realize that…

Well, you’ve been an idiot.

Because all of Keith’s blushing and stuttering from the second you got on the castle ship make sense.

Because maybe you have reasons to hate this stupid suit digging into your chest (and taking points off of what is still probably the best moment of your life) but none of those reasons can be because the suit is some kind of proof that he doesn’t care about you.

Because— _ah god_ he kisses like he’s starving, and you might _love that_ —he absolutely does care about you.

He has from the beginning.

Ah damn it and now you’re going to have to thank the stupid suit for this finally happening, aren’t you?

It presses into your rib and you groan which just encourages the boy on top of you to press into you harder.

Quiznak.

You love him but _shit._

You reluctantly pull away, pushing him back with one hand on his shoulder and the look on his face almost kills you but you power through it.

“Not stopping. Pausing. Cause this thing.” You flick the hard chest piece, “This thing has to go.”

Keith flushes in embarrassment and nods, sitting up and reaching down to pull the piece over his head himself but you shake your head.

“Arms up.” You tell him.

His lips are a deep bruised red and his eyes are blown wide and as you sit back up and lift the breastplate over his head you can’t help but wonder how it’s possible someone who had the ability to look so utterly beautiful could want to kiss you so desperately.

…Well, _a caballo regalado no se le mires el diente._

One of Keith’s arms wrap around his now slightly exposed chest. That suit really doesn’t leave anything to the imagination and despite Keith’s lack of impulse control he still managed to be shy. Not that it matters, you used to change around each other all the time.

Granted, you’ve never kissed before…

You stare at him for a long moment before leaning forward and bumping his nose with your own.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” He replies, too quickly, too anxiously.

You chuckle. He shivers.

“If you’re cold I can fix that.”

This is the real defining moment. That kiss? That kiss could have been anything. But when Keith flushes beat red at your little flirtations remark and stutters out an attempted, “c-could you now…?” instead of looking unimpressed and dismissive like everyone before him…

Well.

You already knew you loved him.

Now you knew you were screwed.

And now that the most offensive part of the suit was out of the way…

“Yeah.”

You reach forward, grab a hold of his thighs and pull him into your lap. This time you initiate the kiss and the feeling of his warm chest pressed against yours is so much better than you could have imagined.

He arches his back as if he can’t be close enough to you and you grip him tightly to tell him you agree.

You find out later that Pidge _did_ forget something and had, at some point or another, attempted to enter the rec room again.

Of course, she had immediately back pedaled.

But whatever, that was fine, you’ll blame the suit for that too.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on tumblr @Blood-red-lion


End file.
